Demon Play: Letters
by Flashfire
Summary: Be slightly hesitant, if not wonderous, at the harsh reality stories of the demon mew that calls himself Tzan. This is a commission by the great Dawn Allies. I was asked to write a Demon Play story. I opted to open possibility for a corollary 'series'...


~Pokemon is © Nintendo. The Demon Play idea, concept, and the entire universe it rests in, belong to Dawn Allies. As for me, I'm just a writer. Everything beyond this point is fiction. The narrator of these series of stories bears no resemblance to me. Really.~  
  
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I was, indeed, quietly bemused by reading the accounts and exploits of others, really. Wonder, really, if everything else in this world is half as thoughtful as it really should be. It's something I do. But, of course, I've been here a long time. I seek nothing, and I know somewhere close to everything. Or close enough, at least.  
  
Hey, you! Yeah, you. This parchment is for you. They call us the angelics, although we fit the name about as well as a circle is square. Am I writing this down for my pleasure? Does it please me to attempt to explain the reasoning of a demon to you?  
  
No. I was bound, of course, to an oaf of a master, and merely rolling that word off my tongue fills me with complete annoyance. Master.. yeah, right. And I'm unable to do a damn thing since I've been bound. Secured, bound, and given a quill. And I'm being forced to write this, right and wrong, but at least I get to make it go however I want.  
  
So. Mortals. I will entrance you using the vile curiosity so nurtured by years of your nature. I shall strip fear to its essence, and pass it out just for you. Happy? I'll even name it like we named them, although you don't get numbers. Oh no.  
  
Demon Play A - a transcript of catalogued events to debate the overall dysfunctionality of the common person, based on many years of exhibition and manipulation by the author, called Tzan. Except, of course, he's not really called Tzan, but there's no way in hell he's giving his name out. Go hang yourself.  
  
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So. I am timeless, I am the Void, and I am nothing more than a spoiled little demon who, currently, is secured in a warehouse that I can't say the location of, held within rings of my own capture and binds of my own essence by this.. creature who, so obviously, hates you about as much as I do. So I'm asking this guy "What's the point?"  
  
He says he doesn't know the point. It just has to be done. It is, as they say, 'folly to Fate, and Fate must play her way'. Which is dung. Dung and pure entrails is what that is, I won't hear none of it. I don't get a choice IN the matter, but I still won't hear none of it.  
  
So, I get to entrance you people.. hm. Tough. What can you do to those that think they know it all? Well, we can start quick, that's a point of order.  
  
At the top of last century, I was very much in my prime. I'm always in my prime, though; day to day, I couldn't really notice, but it was fun to watch the world change. Yeah, it did change, an overwhelming sea of concordance that led to what you people so term 'civilisation', but what of course is forgotten is the very principle by which 'we' thrive. That principle is one of pure, instinctual pleasure. Of desire, even. Of the want to satisfy the 'id', as you call it. We don't give names to things we take for granted.  
  
What should I find but a little girl, anyway. Human girl, of the sort to be wearing a patchwork dress and be sat in what, at first glance, was quite a pleasant day. My days are never pleasant. You know that thing you call the sun? It pisses us off, because apparantly you people like it. Who needs a better reason than that?  
  
Then again, in these days, when I approached her, I was not just a mew. No, because people in those days would point and tell the stories of their mothers, and they'd run. Because people then were actually smart, which I can't say much for now. But, hey, you get along. So, what was I, what was I..  
  
A rat. And I, the rattata, jumped up on her shoulder, whispering nothings to the wind, and everything's to her.  
"So what's a pretty thing like you doing so far from anywhere?" Surprised, she fell over on her front. I was not preparing for this event and I fell over too, rolling a little, before she looked at me with the air of someone shot in the face, and trust me, it was that sort of air, I've seen it before.  
"What do you want..?" she asked.  
"An answered question." said me, getting distinctly bored of my own voice like this.  
"I got lost." she admitted, gullibly, which of course meant she was mine, and I thought, perhaps, she should know what she was up against. I appeared.  
  
By Nalance's wing, how I love describing this. This is.. me. The proper me, and not the black beaten thing I'm as while writing this. I was red, and gold, and black, and I was not scarred. I am, normally, soft, supple, and I glow, with this odd blue light that seems to help people when they realise they're staring at something so horribly rare and unhelpful to their lives that they don't quite realise it yet. With wings of blackest hue, taking their own light from all that around, detailed in fine silver. Like I told you, it was me in prime. And I do so wonder if I didn't present the impression of a god to her as she stood and stared, and was not speaking.  
  
"I am the deity Tul-Sied. I appear to those lost around these parts. Not a very grandiose thing to do, but hey.. it makes a living." I mentioned, sitting myself down on her head. However these .. creatures were, it was best to treat them with as much endowment as one could bear, for they were the wish-makers, and they were life itself. I didn't know my names, and I considered that, oh well, if she lived she could write a fable about it, and that'd be that. She curtseyed. Very nice.  
"Wow.. Could you assist me, good sir?" she perused over her own words, and I patted against her with my tail and said "Yes, I can." in a very helpful tone. That took work. I am quite proud of that tone.  
"Just ask something of me, and I will make it happen."  
"Okay then.." I could tell that she was thinking for herself, as well as for getting out of being lost. First mistake, they think about it. That is a human's biggest problem; their thought.  
"I want a Ponyta, that I might use her to ride out of this area." she said. Yummy, material gain. I kicked her hard on the back, and she sprawled forwards again, at which point I lay upon her back, head to an ear, whispering my sweet everythings to the wind, and my nothings to her in general, and she fought it. Of course she did, for it was barely within her to do so. But there was no denying the inevitable, and under me, she shuddered and reformed as I took her humanity and left behind a Ponyta, as she had asked. That she might ride out of the area, but, of course, not before I rode her about.  
  
Actually, I got pretty far; the girl had been agile, and the firehorse was not lacking in her ways, but I would not tire, and she would, and eventually I ran her into the floor. But, she had been worthy, so rather than destroy her in this manner, I allowed her to rest by taking my leave. If we have already wrecked the body and mind, we do not need to remove it, for it will carry our legacy, and people will still be afraid. It's one of those necessary things.  
  
And damn if it wasn't interesting, either. More interesting than here. You want me to tell you more? I could. It'd be like hitting a needle with a sledgehammer, since I'm very sure you people, and such is the term, are not ready. It is rather akin to being shown the gates of salvation themselves just before being struck down by great, thick ropes that keep you and tie you to this place like.. well, like I'm tied. Stuck. It sucks.  
  
And he's making me write another one, too. Keep watching.  
  
When I was young, and I was, once, a time before men were men, when most women were pidgeys, and the rest of the world was a busy sea of nothing, more nothing, and us. I was councilled by the greatest I have met of us, in that his methodology and pure tact was outdone only by his ability. And you don't even get a pseudonym for him, you unworthy things you. We do not give names to thinks and even if I did, it wouldn't translate very well and it'd blow you away. Yes, it would. Demon-script, it's written all over the world and you people don't know it until you accidentally get killed one day. Or something.  
  
So in our early days, we were the Black Pidgeots, and that's how we got around; flight's always been the best way, and being something not quite as powerful and obvious to transport before, eventually, aligning our full selves onto material soil and smeling the air, that, good gracious, was still ours back then.. was how it was done. You didn't try to be anything else.  
  
These were the days when it took actual skill to corrupt pokemon into doing your wishes since they all knew what you were, but this was the breeding ground ot today, and even then, there were cracks, little fractures in the fabric of reliance which we could pierce with the greatest of ease, driving a fork into their being and prising out the sides like some old and discarded food item. I do believe you people would term it 'pruning'.  
  
Today's loose thorn was a straightforward. An Eevee. Ibuis, as they could better be called, were creatures of fate, and even then they were about as stable as an earthquake and twice as anxious to push themselves about. Quite nice, though, since it meant we could do as we wanted. I do believe it was my great teacher who set them on their unsteady genetic structure in the first place. He wanted to be 'different', did the one a long long LONG time ago. So he became everything, and was forever doomed to have splits of species among its ranks, and live divided for the most accidental reasons. Water hates fire hates water, electricity hates water, dark hates light, and both consider themselves over the three. Nice relationship? I hope so.  
  
The lament was quite nice, actually. "I want my love to notice me!" he asked, and he knew he shouldn't have asked, but then, things were so carefully worded. "I do not wish to be noticed wrongfully or for ill reason, I just wish that she would, at some point, see me and know that I love her, something she seems unable to do." I must admit, I didn't mind pokemon at this time. They knew what was important; the basic things. And they respected us and feared us, and as any respectful Mew will tell you, flattery gets you everywhere, before it gets you flattened, as nobody likes a suck-up.  
  
The teacher, he was most happy with the request, so he fused the lamentful guy to the front of his love's eyes as I watched and then set his speech to continuously say 'I love you' over, and over, and over. It was quite a spectacle. They did last ten days, drinking water thrice and eating a little a day, somehow. Eventually she cried at me, of all the Mews that had gathered to see the two, to 'stop this!' and, of course, wonderfully vague sentences are the food of the gods, that being us. So I cut off the vee's head, successfully stopping her current ailment. To which we started to leave.  
  
This was all well and good, though she then had to live by the fact she had her dead lover's headless cadaver pretty much stuck in place around her eyes. Eventually she wished herself dead and inadvertantly became a minion of the lucky Mew in earshot, who actually left the dead headless one stuck to eyes that would, by that time, have been hollow and lifeless anyway, or something.  
  
Actually, I think you get the message. It wasn't very nice, no, which is what I've been asked to say. Asked, of course, in a way that involves keeping me held at this remote location for no good reason other than to please this guy.  
  
You are, of course, still reading. You are still reading because you are curious about such completely misaligned stunts and endeavours that you fail to get our message of utter disgust and instead, you thrive on the gore of the images of contempt towards those you know and those creatures you might love. It is, as we've learned, a part of what you things are.  
  
So we thrive on it too. Yes, you noticed. This is the point where some smart human comes up and goes 'but that makes you no different, right'? Maybe it doesn't, indeed.  
  
But we're demons. We're allowed to. What's YOUR excuse?  
  
Now leave me alone. I'm kept out of power, it takes serious effort to write this. But I will get you, the guy that holds me, I will take you by the balls and I will grant your forced wish in the most twisted and discontortionate way I have ever granted a wish in my existence. This I swear.  
  
And, heck. I'll write it down. That's how I'll end my tale. For now, days and days of silence. He'll want more, I see his anticipation as he reads this, a fervent adoration and astute admiration that even normal people would be hard pressed to emulate. He will lap up the words like milk and then come back to sap more.  
  
Trust the darkness. It wants to give you everything. And all you need do is ask. 


End file.
